


The Art of Making Out

by theatreobsessed



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Friends With Benefits, Kissing, Making Out, Rough Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-04-24 21:25:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14364000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theatreobsessed/pseuds/theatreobsessed
Summary: Have you ever looked at someone and thought, “Damn, I want to kiss off your stupid face.”?





	The Art of Making Out

It had to happen at some point.

It was either the egging on from friends and all, or the, mildly intense and passionate sexual tension. All the pieces of a puzzle fell into place, like I had “fallen into him.” Like I had fallen into love with my greatest friend.

I never knew true romance until it hit me in the face, and quite literally at that. It had been noted, that as a friend, I had said “I love you” loads of times for it to be platonic.

But, a question remains unanswered.

How did I manage to be here, sitting in the lap of my “might-as-well-be” boyfriend?

I’m not sure what happened. It was a blur.

**********

I sit. Glaring into his computer screen as its screen changes rapidly with fluidity and flexibility. I’d like to make up a lie and say that was all I was focusing on, but liars are no good— filthy even. I never play with him however, I enjoyed watching him, and his game. But mostly him.

His intense dark brown eyes are brought together with his mildly bushy brown eyebrows as his concentration is further focused ingame. His perfectly chiseled face, as if it were carved by artists themselves, are locked with his soft jaw, his teeth clenching with intensity. His smooth hands, which have clearly never been in the line of hard work, grip his mouse as it moves swiftly from one position to another. From is shoulders, all the way to the rounded edges of his feet, show his seemingly lack of athleticism. But, no shits are given this round. You lose, the foul beast inside me.

I place my hand near his mouse, the one he controls, to distract him. He hums a tune of annoyance before moving his mouse away from mine. I push his hand further down his desk, forcing me to reach across his plush waistline (how adorable.)

I look back up at him with a smug grin. A smile that states, “I win, now fuck me.” I was never too sure if he picked this up or not, but I learned when he picks me up and tosses me on the bed behind his desk. I huff a short sigh of defeat, that is, until he flops on the bed alongside me.

Sitting up as fast as I could, I tackle him back on the bed, wrestling for a bit, until I have his arms pinned behind his head on the red colored mattress. At this, he writhes and convulses under my grip, not taking defeat for an answer.

After a moment, he stops, exhausted, and expresses a sign of defeat. Knowing I had won, I took it a step further. It was my personal dare, a challenge. I don’t back down, not one step back. The pieces of a chess board are laid out. He played his move by letting me win. Now, I move the pawn. The ball is now in my fucking court. And it will change one way or another.

I lean down, and I peck him on the lips.

Having not experiencing this lovely moment before, he is shocked, his face being flushed as I look at him, my face also slightly confused and relieved at the same time.

I do another dare. A double dare.

I lean in, and kiss him again. This time, for longer, and more passionate. It had been a little bit after he had passed his stage of confusion, and started to kiss back.

It had begun to become a fight for power, either me or him trying to take over in who gets the upper hand in this session. Each of us trying our damndest to be the dominant face in this game, but instead of being pawns in our own game, it’s the brains behind the operation. The architect and the logician, who go at it for power, putting personal vendettas aside.

I move away from his mouth, kissing down his throat, sucking to ensure that it leaves a mark to remind him of me. He moves around under me, holding in noises he fights to release.

I move back up, hoping to not excite him more than I did. I kiss his mouth hard, hard enough to leave his lips swollen, and looking, rearing, for more pressure and love.

I pull back, to see my work. His face, which displays a fargone expression, is blushing red, with visible purple marks down the sides of his throat. His lips, his fucking lips, are bruised, swollen purple with how hard I kissed him.

Proud of my work, I kiss him lightly on the nose, before getting up. I don’t look back, not one step back. I grab my jacket and keys, and say all so very delicately,

“You lost the game.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> hello! it’s been quite a while, sorry its a bit short! i kinda wrote this out on a whim haha. when i wrote this, i’ve had a few... epiphanies, which have been adapted into this story from my personal... *ahem* fantasies. anyways, i hope you enjoy this very much and leave a bit of feedback! i’d love to hear from you all!  
> xoxo


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